“Give Me The FAT One!” Mountain Man SAID After Being Offered 10 Mail-Order Brides

Chapter 6

They lay together that night on the wolf-pelt blanket before the fire, her head on his chest, his arm wrapped around her, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his skin. The flames cast dancing shadows across the ceiling, and the rain drummed a steady rhythm on the roof.

“I want to tell you something,” Jeremiah said, his voice rumbling through his chest like distant thunder. “And I need you to hear it before you decide anything.”

She lifted her head, her dark eyes searching his face in the firelight. “Decide what?”

“Whether to stay.”

Her heart stuttered. “I already decided that.”

“Hear me first.”

She waited.

“There’s silver in these mountains,” he said. “A vein richer than most men will ever see. I found it years ago, before Mary died. I never worked it. Never told a soul.”

He stared into the fire, his jaw tight, his eyes reflecting the flames.

“I thought it was cursed. That the mountain took my family as punishment for me finding its treasure. It sounds foolish now, saying it out loud. But I believed it. I *believed* it.”

Dileia’s hand found his, their fingers intertwining.

“But there’s a man in Copper Ridge—Crawford. He runs the mercantile. He’s been sniffing around, putting pieces together. And now he knows.”

“Knows what?”

“That I didn’t just find a pretty spot to build a cabin. That there’s enough silver up here to make a man rich beyond his wildest dreams.”

He turned to look at her, and she saw the fear in his eyes—not for himself, but for *her*.

“He’s going to come for it. And he’s going to use you to get it.”

—

The truth settled over the cabin like a second winter.

Dileia moved through the next days in a fog of conflicting emotions. She understood, rationally, why Jeremiah had kept the secret. He was a man who had lost everything, who had built walls around himself so thick that even hope couldn’t penetrate. Trust did not come easily to men who had buried their wives and sons.

But understanding did not stop the hurt.

“You should have told me,” she said one evening, her voice quiet but firm. They were sitting at the table, a cold supper between them, the violin silent on its shelf.

Jeremiah’s shoulders slumped—a gesture so small she almost missed it, but on a man his size, it spoke volumes. “I couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

He was silent for a long moment, his hands wrapped around his tin cup. “Because I’ve spent four years being the monster of Thunder Peak. The beast who lives in the mountains. The mad hermit.” He set the cup down, his eyes meeting hers. “And then you came, and you looked at me like I was a man. Like I was worth something. I couldn’t bear for you to think I brought you here because of riches.”

His voice dropped to a whisper.

“I wanted you to know you were enough.”

Tears blurred Dileia’s vision. She had spent her whole life invisible, unwanted, mocked. And here was this scarred, grieving man telling her she was enough—not despite her weight, but because of who she was. Because she endured. Because she had fire.

She reached across the table and took his hands.

“You didn’t bring me here for riches. You brought me here because you saw me.” Her voice trembled, but she forced the words out. “And I stayed because I saw you. Not the beast. Not Thunder Peak. *You*.”